The Sister He DestroyedChapter 1 The Five-Year Lie
Following the bankruptcy of the James Corporation, my brother was diagnosed with ALS.
I dropped out of university, shouldering astronomical debt and the crushing weight of my brother's survival.
For five years, debt collectors beat me until I coughed up blood, yet I couldn't justify the cost of painkillers. I worked five shifts a day, collapsing from exhaustion, yet I refused to take a single day off.
Every cent I earned went to keeping Jonathan alive.
That changed the night I delivered wine to the Starlight Club.
The door to the VIP room stood ajar. Inside, I saw Jonathan James—the man who should have been wheelchair-bound, waiting for me at home—lounging in a bespoke suit. Legs crossed, swirling amber liquid, laughing with his friends.
"Jonathan, you've kept this charade up for five years," someone said. "Hazel is bleeding herself dry to pay for your 'treatment.' Isn't this punishment enough?"
Jonathan scoffed.
"Almost. If she hadn't been so selfish—if she hadn't scolded Valerie and upset her—I wouldn't have needed to stage this bankruptcy and illness to teach her a lesson."
He sipped his drink, expression casual. "Valerie has spent the last five years traveling abroad. Her mood has finally stabilized, and she's agreed to forgive Hazel. Once the timing is right, I'll have the doctor fake a 'miraculous recovery.' Hazel can resume her life as the James heiress. Consider it atonement for her willfulness."
One friend hesitated. "ALS is terminal. Will she actually believe a recovery is possible?"
A smirk played on Jonathan's lips.
"That idiot girl? She believes every word I say."
He set his glass down. "She needed to learn her place. Valerie is adopted and lacks security; as the older sister, Hazel should have yielded. I'm doing this for her own good. I'll compensate her properly later."
I stood in the hallway, head bowed, tears sliding silently down my cheeks.
But Jonathan, there is no later.
Your terminal illness is a lie.
Mine is real.
——
The corridor's draft cut through my uniform, chilling the sweat on my skin. I stood frozen, a puppet with severed strings. The revelation didn't hit all at once—it felt like a serrated blade slowly slicing through five years of faith.
Every cut drew blood.